


NSFW prompt fills

by JokeringCutio (Breakingthestandards)



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Mommy Kink, NSFW, Smut, Teasing, Touching, helping hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-25 15:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21358645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakingthestandards/pseuds/JokeringCutio
Summary: NSFW Prompt fills1. Reader helps Arthur reach his peak while he's still dressed. Slight mommy kink.2. Arthur touches himself to make sure you're real when he's on the phone with you.3. You're at the cinema to watch Joker again when you feel someone's watching you.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 114





	1. Touching with clothes on

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> prompt - reader makes arthur cum in his pants and he calls them mommy
> 
> AN: I hope you like. Warnings: Smut ahead. NSFW!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader helps Arthur reach his peak while he's still dressed. Slight mommy kink.

Arthur is set on the couch, biting his thumb nervously. He’s trying to quit smoking now that he’s found you, but the constant need to have something to put between his lips remains. That’s why, you find him gnawing on his fingers, on the tips of pens, on anything he can find and fit in between his lips, really.

His feet are propped up on the table in front of him. A puzzle book is in his hand. You find it cute that he can be amused by such paper riddles, while you’re mostly reading books or drawing silly doodles on paper. You have to admit, his version of entertaining himself is much more relaxing.

Too relaxing, perhaps.

You eye the front of his trousers. There’s not a lot going on there.

But damn. Those pretty lips of his, covering and sucking his strong fingers. Your eyes can’t help but wander to those masculine hands. You can see the veins and muscles beneath his skin. To imagine those strong hands had held you in place when he made you ride him to bliss.

Great. Now you’re hot and bothered _again._ It doesn’t usually take much to get you to this point. Just being near him, to smell him, to feel his warmth, it could trigger your arousal.

But those hands. _God._

And then a slight groan erupts from the back of his throat and it’s so low, so guttural, it makes your knees weak. A pang of arousal shoots through your core.

You want him.

But to have him, he needs to be up for the game as well.

And so you slip your hand carefully to the front of his clad legs until your palm rests upon his zipper. You wait, but he doesn’t stir, and so you gently start to knead the flesh that’s underneath.

A sharp intake of breath.

You got his attention.

Green eyes slide to you in surprise. His fingers leave his lips which now part in a silent o.

Your fingers slide past the shape of his flaccid cock, still soft and resting. But at the barest squeeze you give, you can feel his member starting to swell. The blood pumping rapidly to his shaft.

You try to stifle a grin, being way too delighted by the effect you have on him. And so you squeeze again, applying just enough pressure to make Arthur squirm in his seat. He lifts his legs off the table, placing his feet on the floor but keeping his legs apart just enough for you to get a better grip.

You take his generous offer, allowing your fingers to run up and down his shaft with featherlight touches. Just when he starts to get used to the gentle motion, you grip him tight again and move your hand firmly up and down, rubbing him until you feel the defined form of his cock starting to strain his trousers.

His cheeks are flustered and you can’t help but to think he looks delicious like this.

His head is tips backwards and his eyes flutter close. You can hear his breathing grows rapid as the little puffs of air escape past his parted lips.

You lick your own. _God,_ he’s handsome like this. _It’s a sin._

You apply a little more pressure with your fingertips, just to hear him _moan_.

Then your fingertips find the head of his shaft. Through two layers of clothing you manage to flick your thumb past the clothed slit and his eyes open wide. He gasps. His hands grab the couch, his knuckles turning white as he digs his fingers into the fabric.

You do it again. Just a tiny but determined flick of the thumb, and he’s gasping your name.

You raise a brow. Somehow he must have seen as he tried to leer at you from the corners of his eyes, for with another moan he murmurs his nickname for you. _Mommy._

You know you’re in absolute control now.

Your hand moves faster, no longer delaying and leisurely rubbing him up and down. No, instead of the languid yet firm pace of earlier on, you’re now being sloppier. Your grip is less stiff, but the motion is faster. He’s gasping your name over and over as you work your hand up and down. You feel the entirety of him in your palm, feel every vein and ridge through the fabric of his trousers. You even feel the wet spot forming on the top of his shaft as the first of pre-cum escapes his slit. How you would have loved to have your hands inside of his pants right now, to be able to smear all that cum all over the bulbous head of his shaft.

But he’s in his confines still and you silently promised yourself it would be a fun challenge to see if you can get him to finish off without taking his trousers off.

His hands are still turned into fists, desperately trying to find a grip on the slippery fabric of the couch. He’s too shy to reach for you or to grab you and you know it. He’s trying his best to keep his hands away from the one he wants to touch the most.

It makes you grin wickedly.

“Come,” you whisper in his ear, voice like honey. “Come for mommy.”

It’s as if your words work magic. That, and the increased pressure on his cock. He twitches under your grip. His hips spasm slightly into your touch, urging himself up against your hand.

He throws his head back again, his hair is plastered to his cheeks. Little droplets of perspiration have formed on his forehead. He squeezes his eyes shut. He’s close.

So you slow your movement, your hand almost coming to a halt to hear him groan your name, begging you to continue. The sweet-oh-so-sweet torture doesn’t last long. Because you press against the base of his cock, through his trousers. You can feel him twitch, knows he’s close. Then move your hand upwards one more time. The heel of your palm digging into his veined cock. And somehow, it’s the final push he needed.

You can feel a sudden warmth beneath your palm. In a few seconds, the front of his trousers becomes wet. You feel the warmth grow cold underneath your touch. And when you remove your hand you can indeed see the discoloured stain.

When he comes down from his high, you smile at him. You tug at his belt, loosening it before you unzip his front. He looks at you in wonder, but doesn’t do anything to stop you. Then, you slip your hand inside of the freshly made mess you helped create. Arthur remains silent, but you can hear the excitement in the way he is breathing. You press your hand against the hard wet spot inside of his pants, deliberately spreading the semen inside of his briefs, teasing his still sensitive cock.

“Such a shame,” you mumble. Then you take one of his hands in your own and lead it down to your soaking wet slit. With a little help, his hand slips inside of your pants and you press his warm finger roughly against your sensitive clit. “It seems your task isn’t finished just quite yet.”

His green eyes darken. His lips twist into a devilish smirk.

“Luckily for you,” Arthur mumbles as he leans closer to you, “my appetite hasn’t been satiated just yet.”


	2. On the Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble/Imagine based on the scene where Arthur's touching himself while he's on the phone to make sure this is reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am taking prompts for imagine/HC and drabbles on my tumblr jokeringcutio. As I am writing this I have fallen ill with the flue, so fills will be delayed this week.

“Hello?”

“Hi, t-this is Arthur. F-from the bus? You-you gave me your number….”

“Oh, Hi Arthur.”

“S-sorry if my call comes inconvenient. I can always call you back at another ti-”

“No! No, I mean. It’s okay, Arthur. I said you could give me a call whenever and I mean, I wasn’t doing much anyway.”

He can hear a chair being shoved and assumes that you’re standing up just like he is. His hand automatically flutters to his chest to verify that this is real. He throws a quick glance at the bedchamber. The door is slightly ajar and he can just see the outline of his sleeping mother’s frame. She’s resting and probably doesn’t hear what he’s saying, but he turns around so his back is towards that room anyway. 

“I-I’m glad,” he stutters.

“I am glad too,” and your confession has a small smile creep onto his face. He starts twisting the telephone’s cable like a teenager in love. “I didn’t give you my number for nothing. I was hoping you’d give me a call.” Your voice was like honey to his ears. But the kind words were surreal. He must be dreaming this up, right?

His hand slid past his chest again, making his way up to his arm. He pinched himself hard, letting out a hiss.

“You all right there, Arthur?”

Now you just sounded concerned. So this must be a dream after all. In reality, you must have hung up by now. Ah well, if this was just a fantasy he might as well enjoy it.

“N-No, everything’s fine,” he manages to breathe into the phone, hearing your slow breaths on the other side of the line. His hand slips beneath his sweater now, gently rubbing his fingertips past the spot he had just mercilessly pinched. “I-I am just…”

His voice trails off and you fill in the blanks for him. “Nervous,” you guess. “It’s okay. I did not mean to be so straightforward. But you seemed like you needed someone to talk to and I liked our conversation on the bus. I should like to know more about what you do at Ha-Ha’s.”

Arthur has closed his eyes but his hand hasn’t stopped roaming. It slides up and down underneath the layers of fabric he’s wearing. From his chest, sensually slow down to his abdomen, and then into the waistband of his pants. 

“I’d rather hear your voice,” he somehow finds the courage to admit. “I listen to myself all the time.”

“All right,” You pause, “What do you want me to tell you?”

“Start telling me about your day?” He has stopped stammering and has started stroking. And as you talk to him you sometimes hear the little hisses and the little groans as he palms himself. His eyes closed, his lips parted, his hand firm upon his crotch. He strokes himself to completion at the sound of your voice. 

“Can I call you again tomorrow?” 


	3. At the Movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m a firm believer that Arthur as Joker, if he existed, would go to the cinema to watch how others would respond to his story. This is one of those possible moments of him attending his own screening. I had planned it to be longer and more smutty, but alas, my arms won’t let me. So here’s a small thing.

You’ve seen _Joker _before, more than once. But tonight you followed the advice you’d read on Tumblr and decided to go once more. 

Only this time you’d be alone. 

No friends to sit next to you and distract you. Just you and the screen. 

And Joaquin Phoenix in his amazing role. 

You’d chuckled when you’d read comments about women going to watch the film late at night, on their own, who had dared to brought a _vibrator_ along with them. You weren’t sure if it had been boasting or truth, but the thought had thrilled you. Yet, you weren’t the type to brave that sort of stuff, even if you had entertained the idea. 

The theatre was almost deserted. Apart from a couple of two, a group of giggling girls and an elderly couple, there was just you. But you had arrived early and had chosen a spot in the middle, allowing you a great view. You did not sit at the front row because you wanted some privacy. But you had not sat down in one of the back few rows either. Instead, you’d gone straight for the middle. 

The lights dimmed, the film started. A pleasant feeling crawled up deep inside of you; a feeling that made you feel warm on the inside. 

The first few scenes had already passed when you noticed an odd scent. _A bit like smoke?_ You shrugged it off and kept watching, your eyes glued to the screen. 

No one was going to take your attention off your secret fictional crush. _No one_. N_ot even a fire_. 

– 

You’re half-way in when you have the feeling you’re being watched. It’s such a strong feeling that you can’t ignore it. And so you turn to look over your shoulder. 

There’s one of the couples, cuddling together but their eyes are stillfirmly glued to the screen. A bit behind them you see another couple. 

_E__w,_ you did not want to see _that_. However it does explain why they went to sit in the last row. Apparently, Joaquin got a lot of people worked up with his performance. 

You looked in front of you again. The elderly couple? Nope, they were watching the film. The giggling girls? They’re still front row, chewing popcorn audibly. Then who? 

You turned once more, subtly this time. 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

There, in the dark, a few seats behind you, was the tall figure of a man. The film’s reflection lit his frame, bathing him in the colours of the screen. 

Despite the mixture of colours distorting the view you had of him, you could see the white-painted face with the red-coloured smile. 

His eyes were on you. Fixed solely on you. 

You reached with your hand for your heart and tried to slow your suddenly rapid breathing. Your eyes sought left and right but eventually rested upon him again. He was still staring, smirking. A red flickering shortly showed at the height of the arm of the chair. Was he smoking? _Seriously? _That wasn’t even allowed. It did however explain the foul smell you had noticed earlier on. 

You turned fully to him now, as far as your chair would allow you and scowled. Was he grinning even wider? Did he find any of this funny? 

This evening had gotten a little too weird a little too fast. There’s a man sitting here, watching you, smoking, dressed like Arthur Fleck. And the horrible truth of it is, he looks pretty much the same as far as you can tell with only the flickering dim light coming from the screen. 

“Could you perhaps not smoke?” You asked, surprised at your own bluntness. 

Instead of a proper reply, the man just chuckled and you rolled your eyes. 

_Great_, not only does he appear to be dressed the part, he also knows how to act it. 

Slowly, you rose from your chair. Careful not to be hindering the sight of the couples, you strode over to the man in the clown’s suit until you were at his row, then slid in between the chairs until you stood next to him. Looking down upon him, you narrowed your eyes. As far as you could tell, he did look remarkably like- 

“Have a seat, kitten.” 

As if hypnotised by his smooth voice, you reached for the seat next to him. But he stopped you by raising the hand carrying his cigarette. You could see the lit tip glowing faintly at the movement. He had taken in a deep breath, which he only let out after shortly looking away from you, as if amused. Then, as he looked back at you and blew the smoke towards you, he lowered his hand again. 

“On my lap, love.” 

On second thought, you should have denied his request. But his voice was so alike. Especially now that you heard Joaquin’s voice on the screen and the purred demand from the clown in front of you. 

It was like he was one and the same. You must be dreaming. 

Supressing a laugh, you turned a bit so you could sit comfortably on the man’s lap. “I must be dreaming, right.” You repeated your own thought. “I would never sit on a stranger’s lap this way.” 

But as the man blew another puff of smoke past your face, making your nose scrunch at the warmth of it, you felt his free hand wander up your thigh. For a short moment it rested there. **Hot. **_Demanding._**Solid.** Then it tickled up your spine until it rested at the back of your neck before he curled his fingers in your hair and suddenly- _all too sudden_\- he pulled your head back so your eyes found his. 

He was grinning. You could see the mirth in his eyes. 

“Oh, puppet, if only this were a dream. You’d be so much better off if it was….” 

You had no time to ponder what he could have possibly meant by those words, because with a flick of the hand his cigarette had been discarded and his fingers found your leg. 

The hand that had been in your hair had now slid down to your neck again, which he grabbed, holding you in place. 

If you wanted to struggle it would be in vain. His hand had snuck past your waist, sending hot sparks through your tummy. And then, without a warning, that same hand went _lower_ and _lower _until it was between _your thighs_. 

“Hush, kitten,” you could hear the clown whisper in your ear. “You’re in for a treat tonight.”


End file.
